


Deja Vu

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya have a case of deja vu, albeit in reverse, and Napoleon must perform rudimentary surgery to save his partner’s life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The original event referred to in this piece is a fic I wrote called “Minuet of Forest”. There are mentions of some blood, but nothing too graphic.

Almost everything about this whole situation seemed too familiar to Napoleon and Illya—one of them wounded in the forest with a bullet in his leg as the other worked frantically to get it out. But there were two things different this time—the first was that, this time, it was Illya who was the one wounded. Thankfully, Napoleon knew how to remove a bullet—after Illya had helped him in Brazil, Napoleon had insisted that Illya teach him how to do so in the event that this very thing happened. And, thanks to Illya’s training, Napoleon managed to extract the bullet from his partner’s leg as quickly as possible and with as minimal pain as possible.

But that had been the easy part, for the other difference, and most dire of the two differences, was the fact that when it had been Napoleon’s turn, his femoral artery hadn’t been nicked, but Illya’s had been—and that made all the difference.

“Illya… I… I don’t know what else to do…!” he exclaimed, trying to stop the bleeding by keeping pressure on the wound with the purple ascot that had previously been decorating his neck. It was all he had, and it didn’t seem to be helping at all, much to Napoleon’s horror. “I got the bullet out, but it’s still bleeding!”

“You… you need to close up the wound…” Illya said, sweat pouring down his face. “Pressure alone won’t do it.”

“What will?” Napoleon asked.

“A hot blade,” Illya said.

“Illya…!”

“That knife you used to get the bullet out… You must heat it up in the fire and cauterize my wound.”

“…That’s going to hurt like all that is holy. Are you sure there’s no other way?”

Illya shook his head, weakly.

“You have no tourniquet, and you will only be able to apply direct pressure for so long. Unless you do this… I will bleed out for certain.”

Napoleon certainly wasn’t about to let that happen. He began to heat up the knife with one hand while trying to keep the pressure on Illya’s leg with the other.

“What else should I know before I do this?” he asked.

“You must be careful not to make the cut too deep,” Illya instructed. “The artery is only nicked; if you go too deep, you run the risk of cutting it more, as well as creating a clot that will be carried down my bloodstream. In fact, the risk of a clot is greater, but there is no alternative now. Just be careful when you do this.”

“Uh-huh. Got it. Not too deep.”

“And you must get in contact with someone from Medical or any hospital,” Illya said. “There is an incredibly high risk of infection with cauterizing a wound like this—and the infection could be severe.”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with U.N.C.L.E.; I’ll keep trying once I finish this. Anything else?”

“Yes…” Illya said, and he stared directly into Napoleon’s eyes. “Promise me this, Napoleon—that no matter how much I react to the pain, you will keep on cauterizing the wound.”

The American hesitated for only a moment, but then nodded, knowing that this was the only way to save Illya from death by exsanguination. Illya had put him through necessary pain to save his life before; it was what they did—making the difficult decisions just to ensure that the other lived to see another day.

“I promise.”

Satisfied, Illya pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, twisted it around to form a thick piece of cloth, bit down on it, and then sat on his hands. Napoleon now held Illya’s leg steady with his left arm; he then proceeded to take the hot knife out of the fire and, after a moment’s hesitation, began to cauterize the wound.

Illya’s entire body tensed, and even through the handkerchief in his mouth, his agonized screams made Napoleon feel as though he had plunged the knife into his own chest. But he remembered the promise he had just made to his partner, and continued until the wound had been closed.

Napoleon now threw the knife aside and held his partner close. Illya, shaking violently, let the handkerchief fall from his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was still in a cringe, and he gripped Napoleon’s hand tightly. With his free hand, Napoleon once again tried contacting HQ and, finally, got through and requested an extraction.

“They’ll be here in a few hours, Illya. You’re going to be okay now,” Napoleon promised. “I’ll see to it.”

Illya managed a shaky nod, holding onto Napoleon’s hand as though it was a lifeline.

…In a way, he supposed, it was.


End file.
